


face to face

by SgtSpill



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, like buckets of angst whoa, man tears, sorta happy ending though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-02-03 01:31:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1726247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SgtSpill/pseuds/SgtSpill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>he tears the sheets when he looks over to the nightstand and sees a picture from when they were kids, steve slung over his back. he stands up abruptly, grabs the picture, and throws it across the room, sobs when it hits the wall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	face to face

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sherlezza](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlezza/gifts).



> this actually is just a slightly revised series of texts i sent to [lexi](barnvs.tumblr.com) oops

the first time, bucky is rough. his lips are harsh as he pins steve against the wall of his shoebox apartment and tries to melt into him. his metal arm presses dark bruises into steve's broad hips, and it feels so unfamiliar, yet he's overwhelmed with a sense of security, of _right_. steve merely let him, pliant and gentle in contrast to bucky's aggression. he whispers quiet i love yous in between urgent kisses, smooths his hands down bucky's back, and bucky can feel himself tremble, presses harder, harder, hoping that steve breaks, hoping that steve breaks his hold over him. he's the mission, nothing else.  
it's when steve pulls away, tears from bucky's bruising grip just long enough to look him in the eyes, to hold his gaze with sad yearning, that bucky breaks. it's when steve gently touches their foreheads together, whispers his name, that he feels something snap. it's when a large, warm hand gently pries his metallic arm off, that he loses it. he notices a glint in steve's eye—tears, he realizes, and it's too much, too soon, he can't bear to even try and compute what that means.   
mission, he thought.  
 _missionmissionmissionmissionth_ _ereisnobuckyjustmission_.   
he breaks away, runs, runs, runs, runs until he's in an unfamiliar place, until the beating of his heart and the tremble of his body overwhelms the sense of sadness that wracks his body. he falls to his knees, and for the first time, a single tear carves out a path in the lines of his face, dark and grave as it twists in agony.

the second time, he's broken. he waits outside steve's door for hours, stares at the grains in the wood, examines every line of paint. at 3am, he finds himself, finds himself pushing through the door. it smells like steve, he realizes. he sits in the middle of the living room— _steve's_ living room, he reminds himself—and simply takes it in. the posters on the wall—all movies from when they were kids, the record player nestled on a shelf in the corner, an extensive and well-worn collection of records kept beneath it. he cries again when he gets to the endtable, sees steve with his new friends, wonders if any of them loved steve like he did—like he does.   
at 4am, he stands up. he pauses outside steve's bedroom door, gives it an inspection like the last, and at 4:30am, pushes his way in.   
steve is asleep, twitching restlessly between thin sheets. he looks pained, bucky realizes, and he feels something twist inside of him. when tears started rolling down steve's anguished face, he feels his knees buckle. not steve. never steve.   
_nononohavetofixneedtotouchstev_ _estevestevenowrongbrokenmustfix._  
words and lamentations spinning through his mind, he stumbles over to steve's bedside. he wants to touch him, badly so badly, but he can't remember how. knows the way they used to be, curled around each other as kids, steve's body small in his arms, but doesn't know how. he looks at steve, wants more than anything in the world to wrap his arms around him like he used to, but all he feels is the urge to kill, the feeling of wrapping his arm around his neck and squeezing, squeezing, squeezing until he's gone. the thought of it makes his stomach turn, makes his whole body tremble with disgust, but he can feel his arm miming the act, lusting for the kill. he finds himself crying again and sits on the floor, watches steve sleep.   
he keeps a hand curled in steve's sheets, trying to absorb the essence of the room, take it in. he tears the sheets when he looks over to the nightstand and sees a picture from when they were kids, steve slung over his back. he stands up abruptly, grabs the picture, and throws it across the room, sobs when it hits the wall. he hears steve jolt awake behind him, and he breaks, falls to his knees right in the middle of his bedroom floor and bawls.   
he tenses up when steve gingerly wraps strong arms around his quivering body, but he quickly melts into the touch, and he's overwhelmed with _steve_ —the feel of him, the smell of him, the steady puff of breath against his collarbone. they stay like that for hours, and when he finally stops crying, steve whispers his name again, asks, "is it really you this time?"   
bucky shakes, feels himself about to cry again, except he has no more tears left, just feels his body start to wrack itself with dry sobs. he doesn't know. he doesn't know who he is, doesn't know what's real and what isn't, and he can't tell steve that it's really bucky when he doesn't know himself. at his very core, he wants to _scream_ yes, wants to wrap himself in steve and fade into contentment, but he can't, not when there's still a driving urge to kill, an underlying voice crying out mission over and over again   
he leans back into steve's touch, whispers  
 _idon'tknowidon'tknowidon'_ _tknowidon'tknow_   
over and over again until his voice is hoarse. steve hushes him softly and holds him tighter, rubs his hands in circles on his erratically shaking chest. steve whispers back, voice trembling ever so slightly as he responds, "i'll stay with you. whatever you need, until you know. i'm with you til the end of the line."   
it's that phrase. that damned phrase that started this all. he turns around quickly and falls against steve, crashes their lips together and falls into him. he whispers steve's name against his lips, over and over again until it's all he can think, until it drowns out those incessant, violent urges, until it's just him and his best friend curled around one another, existing in tandem once more.   
for the first time in years, he sleeps. falls asleep with steve wrapped around him, combing his fingers through bucky's long, unkempt hair. when he wakes up, steve's eyes are brighter, hopeful, but there's still that reserved darkness behind the light.   
_"bucky?"_   
he feels his chest tighten, locks eyes with steve again, and surges up to kiss him.   
_"yeah, punk?"_

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS MY FIRST STUCKY FIC SORRY IF IT'S BAD   
> also using a new writing style-ish; not sure if it works yet


End file.
